The Power of ‘Yes’

So here’s the question:

Would you be more motivated to do something if you knew you’d get a reward for doing it — or if you knew you’d get punished for not doing it?

Let’s make it even easier.

In my living room, there are 2 chairs and 1 sofa. Every time you come over, I give you $1,000 when you sit in one of the chairs. But if you sit on the sofa,  you get a small-but-not-pleasant electric shock.

Obviously, you’d avoid the sofa. But I wonder: How often would you want to come over to my house?

Now, if you knew you’d get $1,000 every time you sat in one of my chairs, wouldn’t you be very enthusiastic about coming over — and even more psyched about sitting in a chair?

I’m not suggesting anything new.

This is positive reinforcement, and I’m reading a terrific book by the original dog whisperer, Paul Owens. In fact, that’s what his book is called: The Dog Whisperer: A Compassionate, Nonviolent Approach to Dog Training.

Believe me, I’m not taking any holier-than-thou attitude. I’ve done many things I’m not proud of in the name of dog training.

My labradoodle and I are still a work in progress — but we are getting there. Slowly but surely, we are getting there.

I’ve mentioned here often enough the struggles I’ve had with Maddie to get her to walk by another dog. Barking, lunging, pulling, yanking … you’d think it would be getting old since she’s already past her 5th birthday.

Our training of each other has taken us from me shouting at her, bumping her with my knee, demanding she sit … even walking totally away from the other dog in a direction I don’t want to go — just to get away from it and avoid having my arm yanked out of my shoulder.

Lately, I’ve been arming myself with freeze-dried chicken. Yes, I hate the idea of buying chicken for either of us to eat.

But it’s harder to stand by your ethical beliefs when you’re desperate — and being physically injured on a daily basis. (Two broken fingers, to name a few of the injuries inadvertently caused by my dog.)

So I’ve been luring her with the chicken these past few weeks. Another dog approaches, I reach into my pocket and let her grab it and chew on it as we make our way past him.

It’s been working. She’s definitely more interested in the chicken than in barking and lunging at another dog.

Fast forward to this morning. I decide to put Owens’ principles of positive reinforcement to work.

Instead of encouraging Maddie to ignore other dogs — in  other words, abstain from the “bad” behavior of barking and lunging — I am going to reward her for engaging in a more acceptable behavior of my choosing: Being quiet.

Simply put: Instead of telling Maddie “no” to barking, I am telling her “yes” to being quiet.

It may seem like I’m splitting hairs. But if you think about it, there’s a world of difference.

Our new vocabulary word will be “Quiet.” I will use it when she’s barking and even when she’s about to bark, something I can pretty much anticipate at this point by her forward stance and focused gaze.

I saw the first dog coming not long after we got into the park.

I exhaled big time. (Interestingly, Owens says he always begins group training classes with having the humans do some deep breathing. Calm the human, calm the dog. I know it works, because I’ve done it. It was very nice having my own theory affirmed.)

The other dog gets closer and stares at Maddie (I swear, sometimes I think they’re onto her and are daring her to overreact.)

He’s walking toward us on the path and I see Maddie start to fixate, leaning forward and glaring at the dog.

Exhale again. I grab a piece of chicken from my pocket.

Maddie makes a mild growl in her throat — always the precursor to barking.

“Quiet!” I say firmly.

She looks up at me. “Quiet? What the hell does that mean?”

I hold the piece of chicken near her nose.

The dog gets closer — he’s now maybe 5 feet from us — and Maddie whips her head to look at him.

“Quiet,” I say again in a low, calm voice, keeping the chicken near her nose.

She leans forward to grab some of the chicken in her teeth. I hold onto one end while she nibbles at the other.

The other dog walks past, completely disinterested now in a labradoodle who’s clearly not interested in him!

We move along the path.

Deep exhale.

Bring on the next dog!

Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

Read Full Post »

Mindful Meditation meets Dog Psychology

I am lying on my bed trying to meditate.

Trying to engage in mindful meditation, to be accurate.

Mindfulness, I am learning in my wonderful Buddhism class, is the state of being in the present moment. Living in the now.

Something I’ve always had a very hard time doing.

The regrets of the past and the worries of the future always have a firmer hold on me than anything I am experiencing in the present moment.

But that’s one of the reasons I am taking this class. I know I am missing a lot by not living in the now. Maybe Buddhism can help me find that place in time.

Our instructor told us to try mindful meditation for 25 minutes a day. So I am here on my bed in the early evening trying to meditate.

But there’s someone else on the bed: Maddie.

I realize most sane people (and definitely sane people who don’t have dogs) would say, “What the hell are you doing with a dog on your bed when you’re trying to meditate? Do you ever see pictures of Buddhist monks meditating with their faithful canine friends at their side?”

Well, no.

But for those of you who have dogs, you know what would happen if I tried to kick Maddie off the bed — and let’s not even get into locking her out of the room.

Maddie is very sure of few things in life — she’s a nervous kind of labradoodle — but one thing she is very certain of: Her place is at my side.

As I write this, she is flopped on the floor next to me, tired from our 2 hour trek through the park this morning, content from her bowl of breakfast, and relaxed because … she’s near me.

So getting rid of Maddie isn’t an option. Not even for a 25 minutes.

I lie on the bed and think: Forget about Maddie. Stop fixating on the dog. Relax .. let go … let go …

There are some voices outside, and I feel my body tense. Any second now, Maddie is going to erupt. How am I going to meditate with manic barking 12 inches from my head?

Relax … let go …

I remember something a yoga teacher said ages ago about meditation: “Thoughts will try to come into your mind, but don’t push them away. Think of them as clouds, momentarily blocking out the sun. These thoughts will float away on their own, leaving your mind clear.”

Maddie hasn’t even barked yet, I think. I am stressing about my meditation being interrupted by something that hasn’t happened — and may never happen. Why am I thinking about this when I should be thinking about nothing?!

Let go … let go .. like clouds blocking the sun …

I inhale through my nose and exhale deeply. Nothing calms my crazy mind like a deep exhale. I feel my body relax, my focus becomes less focused …

Maddie suddenly twitches and then viciously begins chewing a toenail.

Oh, for God’s sake! Just when I am starting to relax and sink into it, she has to gnaw away at her toenail?! What’s on her toe that’s suddenly so itchy? Why does she have to chew at it so loudly?

Let it go … relax … the clouds will move away …

I try — but I know me.

There is no way I am going to be able to sufficiently relax while Maddie could bark, chew, move, sneeze .. do anything at any given moment.

I exhale again — but this time it’s in exasperation.

So what am I saying? That I can never meditate while I have a dog?

And then it occurs to me. Cesar always talks about “dog psychology.” I am a great fan of Cesar — he is my guru. Following what he preaches has allowed Maddie and me to have a more normal life than I ever dreamed possible. We have so much fun together, and none of this would’ve been possible if I hadn’t discovered Cesar.

I think about what I’ve learned, about how when I am walking Maddie my anxieties travel down the leash to her. How I’ve worked on being calm when we see other dogs, other people … and how I know my calmness (feigned or not) has helped transform this dog into who she is (who we both are) now.

So maybe I can transfer the calmness, the stillness of meditation to Maddie while I lie here. Maybe she can join me in meditating.

Inhale, exhale.

I gently pat a spot on the bed next to me. Maddie doesn’t need much encouragement.

She rises from the foot of the bed, stretches, and crashes down next to me. We are shoulder to shoulder.

I reach over and let my hand rest on her torso. That is our leash for now.

I pet her slowly and gently for a few minutes. Then I just leave my hand resting on her.

Inhale, exhale. Clouds moving away from the sun.

I feel Maddie relax, hear her sigh.

I feel myself relax. My exhales become longer and deeper. I can feel my body melting.

When I finally sit up, I glance at the clock. We’ve been lying there for a half hour, connected by my hand.

I know I didn’t fall asleep, but I can’t say for certain I was meditating. I do know Maddie and I were both totally relaxed and very much living in the now.

I can’t wait to do it tomorrow.

Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter.

Read Full Post »

The Zen of Dogs

I am sitting in class.

DBTHFXSKJAXQ

It’s my second week of a course in Buddhism.

I don’t know much about Buddhism, and this class is more of an intellectual exercise than anything else.

The little I’ve read about it, I like.

It makes sense to me — as a philosophy. And those little Zen gardens, I mean … c’mon. Who can resist?

So I’m sitting in class listening to our wonderful  instructor, Tom, talk about the Four Noble Truths of Buddhism.

He tells us, right from the start, that we will be experiencing Buddhism from the outside and the inside. The outside is the intellectual or academic substance of it. Who was Buddha? What did he teach? The inside is the meditation component, which Tom says we’ll get into in a couple of weeks.

Anyway, the first Noble Truth is Dukkha, which roughly translates into sorrow or discontent.

Our lives are Dukkha, says Tom. Full of dissatisfaction and stress.

“We wake up in the morning, tired from a bad night’s sleep,” Tom says. “We take a shower and realize we’re out of soap. There’s traffic on the way to work. Our boss is in a bad mood. And on it goes.”

What lifts us out of this sorrowful state, says Tom, is meditation. Through it, we learn to let go and simply be. We learn the “real” reality.

I raise my hand after a bit.

“You’re saying that we all live in a state of Dukkha or sorrow, and that’s unavoidable, right?” I ask.

Tom nods.

His movements are slow and he is a very quiet person — perfect for teaching a class about Buddhism. Sometimes his response to a question is not really a response at all, but a meandering into five different directions. In any other setting, that might annoy me. Here, it seems to fit.

“But I’m wondering something,” I go on. “I’ve tried to construct my life these last few years so there is less discontent. For instance: Every morning, I set my alarm very early and walk to a park with my dog. There is definitely ‘chatter’ that tries to fill my head–”

“Good choice of word,” Tom says with a gentle smile. “Chatter.”

I nod and continue. “I have to work to push the chatter out of my head. I pull myself away from it, and focus instead on the honking of the geese, the smell of the air, the colors of the sky as the sun rises, the soft dampness of the grass, the balanced sensation of being in sync with my dog as we make our way through the park.”

I take a breath and keep going. “I am aware of all these things, and I feel content. And it’s a contentment that lasts all through the day.”

Tom looks at me expectantly.

“But I’m not meditating,” I conclude.

I look at him expectantly.

Tom leans toward me.

He smiles into my eyes for a long minute.

“You’re not calling it meditating,” he says.

I lean back in my chair.

Hmm.

I like that.

I really like that.

I’ve written a lot  here about my early morning walks with my dog. I’ve always known that while I say they’re for her — as a way of using up some of her infinite energy and distracting her from being a “bad dog” — they’re very much for me, too.

But I never thought of them as a kind of meditation — yet as soon as Tom says that, I know he’s right.

I love new ways of thinking of things.

Tom’s given me that today.

Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

Read Full Post »

Hypocritical Vegetarian: And Then Came Crab Cakes…

I am having guests for dinner tonight.

I was supposed to have guests for dinner last night — but the weatherman was just a tad off in his prediction of  “a day of rain followed by some snow at night.”

Instead, we got a morning of snow, followed by an afternoon of snow … and then we got hit with a night of snow.

I talk a lot about comfort foods in these posts — but seriously, can you blame me?

We seem to be getting snowed in at least once a week and I will save my screaming for my friends, but let’s just say: I am really tired of it.

So comfort food is called for tonight.

The day already got off to a great start because I was determined not to let this winter beat me. I coated my dog’s paws with Musher’s Secret (definitely a nominee for the top 5 great inventions of all time) and we trudged off for more than 1 1/2 hours.

Dog-walking on a snowy, slushy day observation: Why do the majority of truck drivers not give a damn about racing past a pedestrian (and her dog)  and splashing wet slop all over them?

The beauty of this quiet, snowy morning was I could curse them out loud and no one was around to hear (least of all the truck drivers, tearing past me).

The good news is that every car slowed down to spare Maddie and me the indignity and discomfort of being covered with road slush.

But back to tonight’s dinner:

Fortunately, these friends are kindred spirits — vegetarians who also eat fish. (I am considering offering them membership in the Hypocritical Vegetarians Club.)

But let’s cut to the chase here because I have food on the brain. (My house smells of cocoa brownies I just baked for my next-door neighbor who was nice enough to shovel out my car.)

The culinary world is wide open to me tonight because these people eat exactly the way I eat.

So here’s the menu I created — tell me if this won’t cure even the worst case of the I-Hate-Cold-And-Snow Syndrome:

• Homemade Crab Cakes with Remoulade Sauce
• Roasted Brussels Sprouts and Butternut Squash
• Whipped Potatoes with Cheddar
• Cornbread with Orange Glaze
• Dark Chocolate Brownies with Walnuts

This is a menu heavy on warmth, comfort and yes, calories. But the secret — remember Hara Hachi Bu — is to keep your portions small and eat only until you’ve hit that 80% mark.

Since starting Hara Hachi Bu a couple of months ago, I’ve lost 6 pounds — and as you can see from the above menu, I’m not suffering!

Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

Read Full Post »

How far would you go for your dog?

It’s 6:15 a.m., pitch black and there’s a wind chill of 12 degrees in the city — which means, it’s in the single digits where I live.

It is bone-chillingly cold, but Maddie and I are at the park, just like we are every morning around this time.

Because one of the things I do for my dog is get up more than 3 hours before I need to be at work to exercise her.

I lot of people think I’m crazy — I know this because they’ve told me so.

“You’re waking up that early just to take your dog out?!”

Yeah.

And you know what? I love it.

I love arriving in the park and seeing the faintest hint of orange beyond the tree line.

I love seeing the geese sleeping on the pond, knowing they’re going to wake up in about 15 minutes and start honking and flying over to a field to find breakfast.

I love seeing the deer standing at the edge of the woods, watching us and waiting as we walk past them.

But they don’t need to worry about us. Maddie never goes after the deer for the simple reason that they don’t go after her. She looks at them as they stand wide-eyed, noting our progress around the park’s path, and then looks up at me.

“Deer,” I say. “Aren’t they beautiful?”

She agrees.

We walk on, fighting to move forward even though the freezing wind is pushing us back at every step. My jaw is numb and my fingers are starting to feel stiff.

We arrive at a field where I let Maddie off leash.

“Ball?” I ask.

Yes, yes. Throw it. C’mon!” she says.

There’s no one around. No joggers, no cars, no people walking dogs.

Only I am insane enough to be standing in a dark field, throwing a worn baseball with frozen fingers for my dog to chase.

“Fetch!” I shout and throw it with a side-arm toss.

Maddie flies after it and returns, dropping it at my feet. This is the first dog I’ve had who brings something back when you throw it. That’s the labradoodle — her roots are all about retrieving. I love it.

After about the 5th throw, she veers away from the ball to sniff something interesting in the grass. My guess would be a  few deer visited this field during the night. Maddie has very sophisticated tastes.

Maddie left the ball a distance away from me and I’m too cold to jog after it. I call Maddie to me. I can’t whistle like I usually do — my mouth turned numb a good 10 minutes ago.

“Maddie, come!” I shout. She flies over to me — without the ball.

I look at her and wait until she’s staring into my eyes. Then I look at where the ball lies, a distance away from us. “Fetch!” I say, swinging my arm in a windmill motion and pointing at the ball.

She races toward the ball, picks it up and drops it at my feet.

I love this dog.

We continue walking another few miles, sometimes stopping to play fetch, sometimes breaking into a jog across some of the hills and woods.

There is such a “now-ness” about these early morning walks. It’s impossible not to live in the moment.

Some wonderful advice doctor and author Joan Borysenko gives to deal with stress and get balance in your life, is to take a deep breath, exhale slowly and say to yourself, “Here I am.”

I doubt I ever feel more “here” than when I am in the park with Maddie before the world is awake.

Yeah, it’s dark and cold and after jogging a bit, my legs feel like rubber bands stretched to the point of breaking.

But I also get to see the sky turning to orange, then pink, then light blue. I get to watch the geese flying and see the occasional red fox scurrying across our path. I get to breathe in air so cold it makes my sinuses hurt, but it feels clean and fresh. And I get to walk on grass that’s frozen stiff from frost, leaving a trail of our footprints — mine and Maddie’s — behind us.

We jog some more until we’ve covered about 3 1/2 miles. I’m breathing hard and Maddie’s eyes are bright.

I feel so happy, so healthy and so “now,” I just laugh, and Maddie jumps on me, tail wagging.

Here I am.

Don’t forget to follow me on Twitter!

Read Full Post »

‘Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be’

“Most folks are about as happy as they make up their minds to be.”

That’s one of my favorite quotes from Abe Lincoln — and not just because it was coming from a man who battled depression his whole life. It’s just very simply the truth.

Attitude is everything.

I once had a neighbor, Josh, who always walked around exclaiming, “Isn’t everything great?!”

It drove his wife crazy. She used to tell me, “Sometimes I scream at him, ‘No, things are not great.'”

But if most folks are as happy as they make up their minds to be, my neighbor had to be one the happiest people on Earth.

Josh came by it naturally — that much is clear.

But if you aren’t lucky enough to come by a positive attitude naturally, well … Lincoln knew better than most people how difficult it is to put yourself in a positive frame of mind when your head is refusing to go there.

No doubt you have your own method, just as I have mine.

If you need a nudge in the right direction, check out these tips for positive thinking.

They’re not earth shattering in their originality but they do have the most important ingredient — they work.

Read Full Post »

Good Things Come In Threes

Good things come in threes.

Maybe troubles do  too, but I’d rather not dwell on that.

So here are the three good things that happened yesterday:

1. My knee’s been a little wonky lately, so I gave it a rest from anything more strenuous than walking for 6 days. Last night, I did a gentle 2-mile run — icing it for 15 minutes afterward — and it feels great.
2. I discovered unsalted dry toasted (not roasted) pecan pieces. They found their way into my morning muesli, along with a banana, raisins and vanilla yogurt. That’s a combo I am definitely going to repeat!
3. I treated myself to a bunch of flowers. They were cheapies at Trader Joe’s — just $4.99 — and they’ll last close to 2 weeks. They in a brown pitcher on the mantel over my fireplace and they make me smile every time I walk in the front door. Definitely worth the cost.

Sometimes I have to work to think of three good things in my day — but it’s a game worth playing.

What are your three?

Read Full Post »